SPRING 2015 

 

INCURIA

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          Today is the day… my first kill.

          I wonder what it’s like, to take another human’s soul. I mean, they’re not really humans; they’re inferiors. But still, I wonder what it feels like.

          I’ve heard everyone talk about it. You’re not supposed to, but do they really expect that from us? Some people like it. They say they can feel all the power in the world as they watch the life leave someone else’s eyes. They feel like a god; and after that first kill, all they want is another. Another kill, another life, another high. Other people find it disturbing, but they usually just keep that to themselves. The only ones I’ve ever heard speak out about it disappeared soon after.

          I don’t know what to think. Something does feel almost wrong about this, but these people do need to die. We can’t have inferiors in our midst.

 

 

          I am shaking. I am crying and sweating and trembling and I want to scream from the top of my lungs. I want to run and run and run; run away as far as I can go before I collapse. And when I do collapse, I will get up and run more. Through the forests, through the deserts beyond that, and over the mountains, I will run. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I can run right out of this hell.

          “Inferiors”, they call us. I am not inferior. I am smarter and kinder, more human than any of them will ever be. They think they are strong because they fled and survived the outbreak - well they’re not. They just got lucky and now they use that luck as power they don’t have. At first, they only killed the infected. Then they realized most survivors happened to look the same. “We must have good genes then,” they thought, “we must all have good genes.” They think it’s a disorder, not a disease. But it came from the cities, not the people with green eyes and brown hair. These people don’t know a thing.

 

 

          Part of me feels sorry for them, the inferiors. It’s not really their fault they have bad genes. But I know why we can’t have them around. That could mean the outbreak all over again.

 

 

          These people are idiots. A genetic disorder but it spreads through the air? Are you kidding me? My dad used to be a scientist, before that was banned, and he taught me everything he knew. He even researched the outbreak. He knew how to stop it and right before he could… gone. I woke up one day and he just wasn’t there, like he had vanished out of thin air. Can’t these people see what they are.

 

 

          But whether I like it or not, this is the way it is. Every year, at the age of 16, kids become adults. Everyone kills one criminal and then they’re a full-fledged citizen. It’s not so bad, all the inferiors are going to die or be killed anyway. Having us do it just ensures we will have the strength to keep society functioning. The leaders pick the person you kill, then you have a certain time to do it. I got someone my age; I wonder if that will make it harder or easier.

 

 

          We’re not supposed to know when our day comes, but word gets around. And today is my day. My first real encounter with one of them and it will only result in the end of my life. All I want is to run away to somewhere that I’m not inferior, but I’ve been trying that for years. Every day of my short life I have spent trying to break the locks on this cell, trying to climb out of its vents, escape through the window, to vanish into its very walls.
          My hope dwindles, but it’s not gone yet.
          When I first heard the rumor that it’s my day, of course I was devastated, but then I realized: This is my chance. I will be let out of my cell and before they can kill me, I’ll just have to kill them. I’ll destroy them, take their weapons, and fight my way out of here. This is what I have been waiting for.

 

 

          I hear my name called. I’m up; I can’t believe it. My heart quickens, my breaths shorten. I have been waiting for this my entire life, eager for the day I would finally become an adult. I grab a small gun from a table in the hallway, then continue into the room where my inferior awaits me.

 

 

          I’m out of my cell. After 16 long, horrible years, I am finally out of my cell. I’ve been taken to a large open room with a few windows and doors to the outside world, I suppose. The door opens and a girl my age walks in. Of course she’s 16 too, but I never thought about how weird that would be.

 

 

          Her hair is brown and her eyes green. She is sick; she is inferior. But there is something strangely familiar about her.

 

 

          My killer is tall and slender. She has a narrow face with a straight jaw, like her face itself is determined. Her cheeks are high and pink, her eyes are only a little darker than mine, more of a brown, and her hair is blonde. She has small lips and a pointed nose. I’m surprised; she looks a lot like me. In a different life, we could almost be sisters.

 

 

          I see this similarity and it bothers me a little bit. How can someone that looks so similar to me be worthy of death? How can her genes be bad but mine aren’t? She doesn’t even look sick… I continue walking into the room, but the gun is quivering in my hand.

 

 

          She must see this too - she’s shaking. Now is my chance. I spring forward, aiming to rip the gun from her hands, but her eyes follow me the whole way, giving me a confused look as she calmly moves the gun out my reach. I jump back and stare, trying to figure out what she’s thinking.

 

 

          What is she doing? Do they usually fight like this? She knows she’ll never get away with it, right? The leaders are watching through the windows, everyone knows it.
          Now she is staring at me. I wonder what she’s thinking about - when she’ll die, if it will hurt. I wonder if she has anyone that will miss her.
          I will.
          I hear a voice in my head. What am I talking about? I don’t even know this girl, I couldn’t miss her. She’s inferior, she’s sick, she’s a threat. She has to go.

          I bring the gun up higher, slightly aiming it at her. “What are you doing?”

 

 

          “What does it look like? Can’t you see this is wrong?”
          I can’t believe I’m actually talking to one of them. How could I ever make her understand? I am a threat to her, not another human being.

 

 

          “You won’t get away with…”
          It doesn’t come out how I intended. I mean to sound confident, sure, but instead my voice sounds weak and cracks before I can finish my thought. What’s happening?

 

 

          Maybe I can reason my way out of this.
          “You don’t know that. What if I do get away with it? What if I get away, run right out of here. What if I make it to the mountains and I am free. What if you got away too? You don’t want this. We’re not that different, you know.”
          I’m not sure if it’s working. She has a strange look on her face and her eyes are focused on something else, something not in this room, focused on a thought. She’s distracted, off guard.
          I could kill her.

 

 

 

          What if I did?
          No. They would kill me. The leaders would never let someone get away with that. And the leaders are not wrong.
          I’m not a killer.
          It’s not murder. It’s protection, protection against another outbreak. They caused this, they deserve it. They deserve to die.

 

 

          I make my move. I throw a punch and tear the gun from her grasp. I turn it on her, stepping back far enough that she can’t reach me. “Let me go,” I demand, “Don’t fight back.”

 

 

          The leaders would kill me for this. I sweep my leg, trying to land her on the ground, but she avoids it. I throw a punch, but she ducks. My momentum throws me off balance.
          You’ve had training. Stop her.

 

 

          "Stop."

 

 

          But I can’t stop her. I don’t want to. This is wrong. She looks like me, sounds like me, fights like me. What if my hair didn’t get so light in the summer, or my eyes turned hazel when I cried? Who would be my killer?
          I reach out to take the gun back. I see her like myself, I can predict her movements. She steps to the side but so do I. The gun is is my hands now. I turn it around and aim directly at her head.
 

 

          “Please!”, I’m begging now.
          “Can’t you see what you’re doing?! This is evil. One day you’re going to pay for this. I do have people that love me, they’ll make you pay. One of us will escape and when we do, we won’t forget what you did - what all of you have done.”

 

 

          “See that wall? Go kneel on the ground facing it.”

 

 

          "Please."

 

 

          “Go!”
          I grab her arm and half-drag her there, shoving her to the ground.
          She looks strong, but she is terrified.
          I hold the gun to the back of her head.
          I lean in close so none of the leaders will hear. “You’re going to open the door to that vent. It goes to the roof, you should be able to get to the ground from there.”

 

 

          My thoughts cloud as I struggle to comprehend what’s really happening.
          “They’re going to kill you…”

 

 

          “They won’t have the privilege.”
          I turn the gun around, press it against my head, and pull the trigger.
          Everything goes dark and for just one second I wonder what it would have been like to live in a world other than this one.
          I am no murderer.
 

 

          They’ll burst in here any minute. A tear rolls down my cheek, but I don’t know why. I take the cover off the vent and crawl in. It’s a tight fit, but this is the way out. The way to freedom. I like how the word tastes when I say it. “Freedom,” I whisper.
          I reach a ladder and begin to climb up. This is it, the way to the roof.
          Maybe they’re not all bad. She died for you.
          Died for me. Even my family wouldn’t do that…
          I can see cracks of light from a door above me. I can hear the wind. I can almost taste the air. I am about to scream for joy, I feel like I could fly.
          And now, a deep shudder runs through me; I want to return to my cell.
          My heart drops, my stomach turns to lead. I am dizzy, I am shaking, I am crying.
          The door opens for me, but no one would be out here - no one from the cells. An arm reaches down and I already know what’s next.
          The arm pulls me up into a group of masked people, though I can see their brown and blue eyes. “Nice try, inferior.” The word stings this time.
          The group is pushing me, I’m getting close to the edge. What, they didn’t want to waste a bullet?
          And then I am flying. I feel a slight shove, and I begin to fall. I never realized how high up my cell was. I never realized how blue the sky was, how green the grass was, or how the air felt when it’s rushing past you, into your eyes, your nose, your mouth. I never realized how big the ground is when it’s coming at you so fast.
          I am free.